


Troubled Minds

by daisybrien



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Late at Night, M/M, Nightmares, One Shot, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Series, Post-War, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 08:47:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4298316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisybrien/pseuds/daisybrien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s become a routine for the two, although nights like these were now rare and few in the years after the war had ended. Yet, the horrors stay imprinted in their minds, and most months it is only a matter of time before one of them are claimed by unwelcome memories in what should be a safe place in their sleep, the other left to console them in the aftermath of their nightmare.</p>
<p>It was Seamus’ turn to wake him up, this night. (For HPshipweeks).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Troubled Minds

It starts with a foot wedging it’s way into Seamus’ ribs, flailing limbs nudging him awake, pain blossoming with each strike. The bed sheets start to tangle, twisting around him and pulling him closer to the body beside him with each movement. He sits up in bed, disoriented, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he watches Dean struggle in the throes of his sleep, muttering to himself. His face is scrunched as if in pain, his breathing pushing his chest up rapidly in short, stuttered gasps, words jumbled into gibberish floating from his lips. A muscle works in his jaw, sweat beading on his brow, and Seamus can see his pulse beating in his neck.

It’s become a routine for the two, although nights like these were now rare and few in the years after the war had ended. Yet, the horrors stay imprinted in their minds – neither of them found the use investing in a pensieve, a massive and needless expense for something they never believed they would have a good or greater use for, and would easily become more hassle for what it is worth - and most months it is only a matter of time before one of them are claimed by unwelcome memories in what should be a safe place in their sleep, the other left to console them in the aftermath of their nightmare.

It was Seamus’ turn to wake him up, this night.

Seamus sighs, dragging a hand down his face in tired exasperation, groaning. He gets to work, pressing a hand to Dean’s heaving chest - he can feel his heart beating under the skin, a bird trying to escape from it’s cage – and gives him a soft shake. The movement only seems to agitate the poor man further, his mutterings growing louder, limbs flying in order to set the offending hand off him.

“Oi, Dean,” Seamus murmurs. Against his better judgment, he begins to shake him more vigorously. “You’re just dreaming, love, wake up.” He starts to raise his voice as Dean does, lying down to bring his mouth closer to his ear in an attempt to soothe; calmness and carefulness were never some of his strong qualities.

“Dean, wake up!” Seamus almost shouts the words, one hand pressing to Dean’s forehead, steadying the twitching of his head back and forth on the pillow. With a final shout and a thrash of the arms that strikes Seamus in the bicep, leaving him to hiss in pain at the force, Dean wakes from his nightmare, coughing a strangled gasp as he rises in bed. 

He hears more than feels Dean’s arm shoot up from the bed, a rustling of sheets signaling the swift movement. What Seamus does feel is the wand under his chin, it’s tip digging into the soft skin of his neck. The two of them had always slept with their wands on their bodies, a habit they had gained and were never able to shake off since the war had begun, and subsequently ended. It was never thought that it would be necessary to stop doing it, as it was a good precaution to have in the middle of the night. Any wands drawn in the darkness were often stashed away just as quickly, no bright beams of spells lighting the room to the other even in their franticness in moments like these. Still, Seamus finds himself leaning back, his hands shooting up by his head in a sign of surrender.

In the darkness, he can see Dean’s shoulders rising with each heavy breath, the whites of his eyes glinting in the moonlight, trying to register the stranger in front of him. “Hey, you’re okay,” Seamus whispers. One hand moves down, the gentlest of fingers wrapping around Dean’s wrist, slowly lowering the wand back to the mattress. “You had a nightmare, but you’re safe. There’s no one here to hurt you.”

He hears Dean sigh in relief, his breath uneven. He falls forward, Seamus almost flying back at the impact, arms wrapping around the smaller man’s body as he buries his face into Seamus’ neck.

“Ted,” the word is nothing more than strangled croak, breaking off into a gasping sob, Dean’s body shaking as he tries to hold the tears at bay. Anyone else may have been startled at another man’s name coming from their boyfriend’s lips – “What, are you cheating on me now?” Seamus had said the first time Dean had a nightmare in their shared bed, his attempt to break the tension accidentally starting a fight between the two of them in the middle of the night, the significance of the name unbeknownst to him at the time – but he’s heard the stories behind it, seen the agony in Dean’s eyes as he relived the day in every retelling of it. The only thing left for him to do was to bring comfort.

Seamus shushes him, pulling their bodies down to the mattress. Dean gives into the force, letting the two of them lie down, arms still wrapped around each other, the two of them sharing a pillow. The warmth of the bed sheets welcome them, Seamus pulling them over their bodies, bringing with it safety, an impenetrable barrier for any affronting dangers or invading thoughts.

“You’re safe,” Seamus repeats. It’s the only words he’s ever found that have brought the comfort and security Dean needs after a nightmare. It does its work, Seamus kissing Dean’s sweaty brow, letting him bury his face in his neck, rub his cheeks against the prickly stubble on the curve of Seamus’ chin. Seamus feels dampness seeping into his nightshirt, Dean’s tears and snot soaking a wet patch into the fabric. Seamus repeats the words until his mouth is dry and sore, brushing a hand down Dean’s spine and over his shaved head, willing away his choked apologies as he sobs.

Soon sobs settle into whimpers, Seamus’ hand brushing over Dean’s curly hair in a mantra as his breathing evens. He wonders if he’s fallen asleep before he hears him take a breath, the beginnings of a whisper. “I’m-“

“Don’t,” Seamus interrupts, shushing him with soothing sounds. He thinks he might punch a wall if he hears Dean apologize again, willing to get up even as the burning behind his eyes screams for him to sleep. “There is nothing to be sorry for.”

He’s telling the truth. Neither of them had killed Ted, or Dirk. Neither of them had hid behind silver masks, their spell light reflecting sinisterly off the metal as they laid siege to the castle; no, they had been the ones defending it, had fought tooth and nail for their security and their freedom and won, living to tell the tale.

“Try and rest,” Seamus whispers. He pulls Dean further into him, hears him inhale the smell of detergent on his pajamas. He strokes the tears from Dean’s cheek with his thumb, cupping his cheek, pulling him up to give him a chaste kiss on the lips before they settle back into the sheets. 

He props his chin on top of Dean’s head, smirking to himself with a smidgen of satisfaction at the illusion of being taller. The feeling is short lived, his attention back to Dean, watching in admiration as the moonlight shines off his beautiful dark skin, black eyelashes fluttering as he finally falls asleep.  


Their breathing begins to even out, finding a similar rhythm to the other’s, and the heaviness of Seamus’ eyelids win the fight against wakefulness, letting him drift off into welcome oblivion with him.


End file.
